From Bruges with Love.

As we stepped off the bus, we had four hours left in Bruges before we were due to catch a train to Ypres.

We headed in a opposite direction that we had started the day before. The sun was coming out and the streets were filling with people.

The streets led us to a corner of the city that we had not seen the day before. 

As we carried following the canal, we found ourselves in the midst of the weekly flea market. 

If I hadn't had just a rucksack, and the Eurostar didn't require you to walk through metal detectors before boarding, I think I would have bought everything in front of me. 

We carried on, stumbling across shops and churches, the sun now streaming through the city, lighting the golden streets. 

A tree lined pathway with a stone archway at one end led through a small garden area. And there, behind one corner of a cathedral, sat the oldest bridge in Bruges. Home to the Fisherman's house, the bridge was teeming with people. The cobbles smooth with the thousands that had crossed the path over the years, the sun bounced gracefully from the shining stones to the ripples in the water below. Whether it was the warm sun after days of rain, the old buildings, the birds singing, or what, I don't know. But what I do know is this was, without a doubt, my favourite corner of the city.

We slowly made our way back towards the central square to catch out bus. We headed back via the famous corner, and towards the fish market we had sheltered in the day before. The market stalls were no longer cold empty slabs, wet from the rain. Instead they were covered in art, jewellery and perfumed soaps. Buying a couple of beautiful paintings, to remind ourselves of the city, we headed back, and jumped on the train to Ypres.